The Wistful Witness

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 19:52:39 -

1912, November 4th. The dream was the same as always. My father’s pocket watch lay on the kitchen table, its face cracked, the second hand shivering in the dark. It did not tick. It just trembled, a faint, sick vibration against the wood. I woke with my heart hammering against my ribs, the cold air of the house biting at my skin. I am thirty-four years old. I have served this town for...

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